


In the Tiger's Den (A Bear Sleeps Tonight)

by greywing (ctrlx)



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-08-17
Updated: 2007-08-17
Packaged: 2017-12-06 03:42:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,357
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/731088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ctrlx/pseuds/greywing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Olivia Armstrong returns to Central. (Written post-chapter 74. Some events may have been negated by canon since.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Tiger's Den (A Bear Sleeps Tonight)

**Author's Note:**

> **Spoilers** : Manga Chapter 74. (This fic was written at the time Chapter 74 had been released.)  
>  **Disclaimer** : The characters are the genius of Arakawa. Not mine.  
> 

The strong, loud knock that fell on her door that morning still managed to somehow sound hesitant. Though perhaps it was only her imagination or the prickling knowledge that it wasn’t one of her own men, who tended to knock with the confidence of obedient, competent soldiers—which is exactly what she had trained them to be.

“Major General Armstrong?”

Olivia Armstrong closed the folder sitting upon her desk and leaned back in her seat. “Come in.”

The door opened and revealed a surprisingly familiar face. The hair was longer now, pulled back and away from her face, but Olivia could have recognized Riza Hawkeye by her flat, guarded gaze alone. The—Olivia glanced at the epaulettes on one uniformed shoulder—first lieutenant saluted smartly and then approached her desk with a folder in hand. Olivia watched her closely.

“From His Excellency,” Hawkeye said shortly, holding out the folder. Olivia reached out and grasped it, glancing at it once to see that it wasn’t a folder but a sealed envelope, but did not take it. Hawkeye hesitated before withdrawing her hand. Lacking support, the other end of the envelope drooped sadly and remained that way as Olivia sat unmoving. Hawkeye took a step back from the desk and stood patiently at ease, hands crossed behind her back. With an imperceptible nod, Olivia set the envelope down and folded her hands atop it.

“I’ve also been told to inform you that should you need to communicate with His Excellency but are unable to reach him,” Hawkeye said, evidently taking Olivia’s sudden mobility as a sign to continue, “I’m available to relay any messages you might have.”

Olivia had yet to take her eyes off of the soldier. Hawkeye never flinched but leveled that studied gaze on her—or perhaps a spot just over the major general’s left shoulder. At last Olivia looked down at the envelope and flipped it this way and that, noting that it was stamped with the words “CONFIDENTIAL” on both sides in red ink. At the moment, it held little interest for her. The wheels of her mind turned.

“So, First Lieutenant, you are His Excellency’s…”

“Aide,” Hawkeye supplied.

Olivia nodded slowly, considering. “Really. I didn’t take you for an ambitious soldier, Hawkeye.” She gave the first lieutenant a once over with her eyes. “That greenhorn Mustang must have rubbed off on you.”

Hawkeye stiffened slightly, so slightly that if Olivia hadn’t been looking for it she wouldn’t have seen it. There was a change in her gaze as well, one that Olivia couldn’t quite read. Unsure, she backed off a bit.

“Well, I look forward to working with you in the future,” Olivia said dismissively, reaching for a letter opener.

Hawkeye nodded and saluted. When the door closed behind her, Olivia tapped the handle of the sword-shaped letter opener against the desk top, lips pursing. She wondered when she could expect Mustang’s promised flowers. She wondered if he sent any to Hawkeye.

In an offhand thought, she wondered if Hawkeye even liked flowers.

*

  
Riza Hawkeye was a name before she was a face to Olivia. A good soldier, some said an excellent one, an efficient officer, and talented with a rifle. Her name floated about the joint training sessions between the North and the East. Olivia had listened, ever mindful of potential recruits, but had done little more than make a note of it.

Their first meeting proved to Olivia that Hawkeye was both what she expected and what she had had no idea to expect at all.

These days watching Hawkeye occasionally bustle in and out of her office on the Fuhrer’s errands reinforced that initial impression. Olivia approved of Hawkeye’s straight spine, long stride, and immaculate dress, how not even a strand of hair ever seemed out of place. She did not flinch at Olivia’s remarks or balk at any cold reception. She did not make attempts at false complacency or waste time with unnecessary small talk. A good soldier. She would have survived in the North and the North would have embraced her.

“What do you think, Hawkeye?” Olivia asked one day, getting up out of her seat and turning to look out the window. The view from her Central office afforded her a nice look onto the parade. It was more than she had ever had to look at in Briggs but the sight couldn’t capture her heart or pride the way the fortress had. This wasn’t a place she had shaped with her hands and her will. Not yet.

Hawkeye did not reply but stilled. Olivia glanced at her. “A job like this should have perks, don’t you think? Maybe if I ask nicely enough I could get you reassigned to me.”

Hawkeye did not move—it was amazing really, how still she could be, but Olivia had known that, had seen the way she could sit in an absolute position for minutes, training her crosshairs on an unsuspecting target—and then she deliberately straightened up. There was something in her gaze again, that same look that Olivia had seen during Hawkeye’s first visit, but there was no edge in Hawkeye’s voice when she spoke.

“I never got the impression that you thought much of me.”

“What made you think that?” Olivia asked. She turned to more fully face the other woman and rested one hand on the pommel of her sword.

“You never made a request for me, though I’ve heard you took in a few of my classmates.”

Olivia cocked her head slightly, studying the lower officer. Then she crossed the room and made a small circuit around the first lieutenant. Circling again, she trailed the tips of her fingers along the line of tiny, almost invisible hairs at the nape of Hawkeye’s neck as she passed behind her. Hawkeye drew in a sharp breath and her shoulders trembled slightly. A shiver. Or a shudder. Olivia wasn’t sure.

“From what I could tell during the short period that we trained together, you didn’t like the cold much,” Olivia said casually as she came back around to face Hawkeye, as if she had done nothing, as if nothing had just occurred between them.

“No,” Hawkeye said, sounding casual herself, “I suppose I don’t.”

“Nor the heat,” Olivia said, thinking of Ishval.

Hawkeye blinked slowly. “Depends on what type of heat.”

Olivia paused at that, hearing nothing in the inflections of Hawkeye’s voice. When she didn’t speak, Hawkeye gathered up the stack of papers she had piled on the corner of Olivia’s desk and saluted.

“I think you would be wasting your time making such a request,” Hawkeye said, referring to Olivia’s initial question. The hard edge was back in her gaze.

_Trust me_ , her eyes seemed to say and yet every word and action said not to.

What she expected and what she didn’t. Olivia waved her away dismissively and returned pensively to the window. Hawkeye closed the door softly behind her.

*

  
Mustang sent a beautiful bouquet of flowers that Olivia could identify only because her upbringing had been filled with such fine, extravagant excess. It mattered little what they were, however, only the message behind them: an invitation. But upon seeing the blossoms, what Olivia thought of was not the conquest of Central and its higher powers, but of Hawkeye, trailing behind the Colonel in the unbearable cold of the North, as much a part of his presence as a shadow.

She doubted he sent her flowers these days, if he ever had at all.

*

  
The web of Central was more tangled than she had thought. Coordinating with Mustang gave her a bit more of an insight into the problem—not to mention having the perspective of being in the nest of snakes itself—but contributed little to forming a strategy. There was always the problem of Mustang himself. Olivia had yet to decide how to take care of him should he—if they all managed to survive—want to succeed the Fuhrer on Bradley’s way out. It wouldn’t matter much if Bradley ever decided to take her head for being treasonous, though. She could be allies with Mustang for the time being. Not to mention that now…

“The Fuhrer has asked that I work with you on this project,” Hawkeye said, a bit stiffly. “Feel free to contact me at any time.”

Olivia smirked. “It’s almost as if I had gotten you reassigned to me after all.”

“I’ll still be performing duties for the Fuhrer, but… yes,” Hawkeye said, the final word falling from her lips like a weighted line. Olivia wasn’t sure if she should bite.

“I’ll leave the inquiries to you, then,” Olivia said. Hawkeye nodded. “Come back to me if you find something.”

On her way out, Hawkeye glanced at the dying flowers in their lonely vase in the corner of the room. Their eyes met briefly before Hawkeye closed the door.

*

  
Central was too noisy and bustling and busy. Daytime reminded Olivia why she did not often come to visit. At night, though, there was something peaceful about the streetlights, the quiet air, the stillness of the darkness. She couldn’t see the stars very well, though, and she missed the sight of the moonlight on an endless expanse of snow, everything as brilliantly white and undisturbed as a virgin world.

The knock on her door was becoming an increasingly familiar one.

Olivia waved Hawkeye into one of the two chairs facing her desk. Hawkeye, unused to such hospitality, hesitated before sitting.

“Do you always work so late?” Hawkeye asked after they concluded their business.

“Do you?” Olivia quipped. “Of course, you do.”

If Hawkeye was offended by her words, she made no indication.

“Since we’re both in danger of not having lives, how about a few drinks?” Olivia wasn’t actually in the mood for drinks. It was too warm in Central for drinks.

Hawkeye was going to refuse, she could tell, so Olivia simply stood up and retrieved her coat from where it hung on the rack. Without waiting for the surprised Hawkeye, she shoved her arms through the sleeves and gave Hawkeye an expectant look. The first lieutenant got up as if she were obeying a distasteful order.

“Any place you prefer?” Olivia asked as they got into her personal car.

“I don’t go out much,” Hawkeye admitted, sounding increasingly resigned. Olivia smirked and then ordered the driver to take them to one of the seedier joints she knew, which would have thrown her father into conniptions had he known that she even knew of it. To her credit, Hawkeye didn’t look at all surprised or alarmed when they disembarked and entered the rowdy establishment. Olivia wondered if Mustang took her out on such classy dates.

Olivia had left her sword behind since it would have attracted some attention. As it was, their uniforms got them passing and unsurprised glances. A few of the lonelier and drunker men in the corners and in the shadows along the sides let their eyes linger or even leered. Olivia leveled a look at them that warned them to not even try. Not that many ever did. Olivia knew what kind of air she gave off. Glancing at Hawkeye, she noted that the atmosphere surrounding her would be doubly frigid tonight.

It became apparent that neither of them planned to get liquored up that night. They each ordered drinks that they nursed, as if pacing each other, and if Olivia had hoped that the laxer atmosphere and distance from Headquarters would loosen Hawkeye up, she was wrong. The woman seemed more reluctant and reticent than ever.

They made meaningless talk for an hour or so, with Hawkeye surprisingly asking after her brother. Alex… too goodhearted for his own good. She felt sorry for him sometimes, but Hawkeye seemed to think him a good man. He was, Olivia had to admit. Not a soldier, though, her brother.

They were driven back to Hawkeye’s apartment in silence. When they arrived, Olivia casually dismissed the driver. The driver was confused and Hawkeye looked alarm, but neither said a word in protest. With the red backlights receding down the road, they lingered on the stoop of the apartment building. Olivia looked up at the moon. Gibbous. Waning, if she remembered correctly.

“If I had invited you to join my troops, would you have come?” Olivia asked.

Hawkeye didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. Olivia nodded and bade her goodnight. She remained standing on the stoop for a minute after Hawkeye disappeared into the building. She breathed in the night air.

It turned out to be a long walk back to her quarters. The streets were long and mostly deserted with the occasional car rumbling past or a drunk stumbling and slurring a catcall in her direction or the homeless burrowing deep into heaps of garbage, wanting only to be left alone. The walk warmed her and Olivia had to take off her coat long before she reached her destination.

Central was too big and hot and empty.

*

  
Olivia held the tip of her sword against the sniper’s neck. Finally, she and her men had managed to penetrate the lines of defense; Briggs would be theirs again. Amazing to think that only this and another sniper had given them so much trouble and delayed them for so long. Her adversary barely reacted to her presence, eyes only moving in the pale face, a shock of blue in a landscape without color and nearly expressionless but for the obstinate defiance.

“You’re already dead,” Olivia said.

“Maybe,” the sniper said and the slight movement at her waist caught Olivia’s attention. The small outline of a pistol’s muzzle was apparent beneath the cloak. Olivia pressed her lips together until they formed a hard line.

“I heard you on the steps,” the sniper said.

“Even if you had shot me, I would have slit your throat and taken you with me.”

The sniper’s head dipped in acknowledgement of Olivia’s words, but her eyes said, “Maybe.”

Not to be deterred, Olivia continued, “Now my men are taking the guard post. Briggs will be ours again. Listen, you can already hear them.”

The sniper cocked an ear. It was true; the shouting and mayhem of the exercise could be heard in the tower. Whether or not Olivia had won this showdown, she had succeeded in neutralizing the damage the sniper could do.

Olivia Armstrong withdrew the point of her sword with slow deliberateness and slid it home into its sheath. “What’s your name, soldier?”

The soldier remained in her exact position, cradling her rifle in the crook of one arm. She met Olivia’s eyes evenly. “Second Lieutenant Riza Hawkeye.”

And so the name acquired a face. This was Mustang’s dog. Had some steel in her spine. A pity, she had thought then. But Olivia respected loyalty.

Pity.

*

  
Olivia had long ago learned how to deal with the nuisance of wearing a sword. She did not take corners too sharply, made sure to adjust it or remove it altogether before sitting down, and minded things behind her when she made turns. It was somehow a small price to pay for the satisfaction and reassurance of its weight on her hip. Her men had long ago learned to move and keep out of her way. But her men weren’t here and she didn’t expect that someone like Hawkeye would trip over it.

It wasn’t so much the first lieutenant’s fault really. Olivia had sat down in a chair behind her without Hawkeye knowing it. In the act of turning and backing up to address the major general, Hawkeye had discovered too late that avoiding the chair’s legs wasn’t enough and had stumbled. Feeling the jolt against her leg, Olivia had surged out of her chair and caught the first lieutenant on instinct. Hawkeye clung to her, still off balance.

She was very warm in her arms.

The question that slipped past Olivia’s lips was as unexpected as Hawkeye in her arms. “Has he rewarded you yet after all these years you’ve given him?”

Hawkeye tensed, grip tightening, and for a moment Olivia thought she would push her away. They were close. Close enough that Olivia could make out her own reflection in Hawkeye’s eyes, serious and grave. Some of her hair spilled across Hawkeye’s cheek, its shade not so different from Hawkeye’s own.

For the first time, Olivia saw real offense in Hawkeye’s eyes but buried beneath a question, a challenge.

_Do you?_

A fair question. She was no blushing virgin, despite her father’s expectation that she be a proper Armstrong Lady. If she had crooked a finger, some of her men—male and female—would have answered. She knew that. She knew that and yet she never asked, never bestowed the favor. Too dangerous. Fear was one instrument to enforce loyalty, but love and respect… even adoration… these were chains men were willing to wear. Olivia understood that. Just as she knew jealousy would tear them apart.

Briefly breaking eye contact—acknowledging Hawkeye’s point—Olivia settled Hawkeye in the chair she had been sitting in and bent down on one knee to take one booted foot in her hands. She turned it slowly and gently to test for any sprains. Seeing no reaction of pain, she moved to the other foot and noted how Hawkeye clutched at her thighs. She put Hawkeye’s foot down gently.

“Sometimes we can’t afford to be kind,” Olivia said and rose to her feet, not knowing who she was referring to. Mustang? Hawkeye? Anyone. Everyone. Herself, herself, herself.

She leaned over Hawkeye and tucked a finger underneath her chin.

“Don’t,” Hawkeye said with such quiet desperation that Olivia paused. She could feel Hawkeye trembling through their tenuous contact.

“Don’t,” Hawkeye said again and it meant something so much more, something so much bigger, but Olivia still didn’t understand. It was the same as the look that sometimes appeared in Hawkeye’s eyes or the way she sometimes stiffened at the most seemingly random comments. Hawkeye’s gaze flicked away once, towards the floor, but when Olivia looked she saw nothing but their shadows.

She turned back to look at Hawkeye, this woman who had once pointed a pistol at her, who had clear eyes and unquestioning loyalty to a man that she could not yet have, perhaps would never have. Olivia looked into her eyes and drew closer.

“Don’t,” Hawkeye whispered, so close now that her lips almost brushed Olivia’s as she spoke.

Olivia didn’t stop. Hawkeye was soft beneath her lips. Human. Warm. Nothing like the North and her blizzards. Nothing like the North at all.

When Olivia withdrew, Hawkeye blinked up at her in confusion, one hand coming up to cup her cheek where Olivia’s lips had brushed featherlike.

Olivia left her there without a word, going off to search for an ice pack for Hawkeye’s ankle.

It was herself she couldn’t afford to be kind to.

*

  
They finished up the project they were working on quickly enough, though Olivia did it with distaste. Under the veneer, it was vile stuff and she suspected that Hawkeye knew it as well. Not the Fuhrer’s woman, Hawkeye, but not quite Mustang’s anymore either. A hostage, but a strange one, with some autonomy yet. Olivia turned it over in her mind from time to time, thinking about her own men at Briggs suffering the command of one of the Fuhrer’s men.

Her men. Hers. Even now, hers.

Olivia looked out onto the parade and closed her eyes.

The sun was warm on her skin. Almost too warm. But Olivia could learn to get used to it again. She knew a few of her men who would have preferred the warmth.

*

  
From time to time, Hawkeye worked with Olivia again. Hawkeye was a good aide. She would do any Fuhrer good service. Olivia kept that in mind.

She also stopped making goading remarks around Hawkeye.

And Hawkeye never tripped on her sword again.

While the verbal abuse Olivia hurled at Roy doubled.

Hawkeye’s knock on her door would always sound hesitant to Olivia’s ear.

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> The title is a reference to a remark made by one of the Briggs soldiers according to the Ichiki (?) translation.
> 
> I apologize for my characterization of Olivia. Despite loving her instantly even when I couldn't see her clearly--all I needed was that shadowy glimpse of her in her chair--I admit here and now that I was too lazy to go back and reread chapters to try and capture her, but a short conversation with [](http://maxthebd.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://maxthebd.livejournal.com/)**maxthebd** , whom I blame for this fic, brought up the "lone wolf" feel. Certainly from the get-go Olivia struck me as an ambitious woman and how not when she's the commanding officer of Briggs. I knew that she would spark the same curiosity in me that Hawkeye always has, being a strong female character in a work chockfull of strong female characters. Yet since I also love Hawkeye, my brain naturally went, "Let's put Olivia and Hawkeye together!" (I'd already put Hawkeye and Gracia together, so why not?)
> 
> Only... this fic quickly got away from me and the Olivia in my mind, rather than being the aggressive personality that I saw in Max's short little ficlet, quickly became the somewhat cold, calculating person above. She can snipe and prod, but is a little distant. I didn't realize what was really happening until I took a little break--my Olivia was quite repressed. (I blame _Son of a Witch_ for this.) But even though nothing was happening, I liked what was getting on the page, so here we are. Even if you want to kill me for crappy characterization, I hope this was still an enjoyable piece. Lord knows that it's a "long" piece for me--I never get 1000 words, much less 3000!


End file.
